Eddy Is A Liar
by paper smiles
Summary: This is the story of how a little boy's dream can become everyone's worst nightmare. This is the tragic story of how even the most beautiful of minds can lose control. This is the story of Doctor Edward Richtofen.
1. 14

**Alright kids, here's the deal. **

This is something I've been working on for the past month or so, and a lot of it is going to be inspired by a youtube video I saw that basically connects the NZ story to real-life events in history. Many of you do not know this, but WWII is and has always been my favourite time in history. Nazi ideology has always fascinated me, (along with mental disorders but that's a different story) hence why I enjoy writing about the doctor.

This is something I won't take lightly, seeing as I desire this entire story to be absolutely _perfect._

Originally, this chapter is entered in a writing contest, hence the complete AU setting. According to their standards, it's an original piece of work, but come on, am I really talking about a crazy little German kid I created? Nah. It's totally based on what I think the Nazi was as a child. I was still deciding how else to plan it, and I figured, all we know about his childhood was that he had a sister, and that his childhood was a bad one, so why the fuck not? Let's add him moving to another country.

All German will be translated at the bottom.

_This is the story of how a little boy's dream can become everyone's worst nightmare. __This is the tragic story of how even the most beautiful of minds can lose control. This is the story of Doctor Edward Richtofen._

Nothing in this story is my own, unless you do not recognize it. Then in which case, it's mine.

Reviews would be wonderful.

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><p><em>Sie wissen nicht wie Sie. Du bist ein Freak, um sie, fragen Sie einfach, dass Jared Junge.<em>

"Halt die Klappe, ich weiß." He muttered under his breath, begging the voices to stop pestering him. He was trying to concentrate on the mathematics that was being written on the board. He enjoyed numbers; they welcomed his intelligence like no one ever did. His parents didn't care about what went on in his head, he had no friends, and only the voices in his head knew about his fascination for things of the numerical sense. He was a big fan of the sciences as well, especially learning about how things were made up, and if they could be taken apart, but it's not like anyone knew.

The past few months had been hard for the young boy. He and his family were of pure German descent; he was born and raised there, but the recent fall of the country's economy caused his family to flee to the Americas. New York was where they had relocated, the busy streets a complete contrast to the small quiet town they were accustomed to.

That Jared fellow was the young American boy who sat next to him. In comparison the two looked like a before-and-after example of what drug-abuse could do to a person, his own blond hair a shaggy mess that was always in the way of his now dull emerald green eyes. The sharp features he inherited from his father making him look like he was always annoyed. His small, thin frame and naturally pale European skin contrasted with his neighbor's light golden skin and all around fitness. Jared sported a head of short blond hair, complemented by a set of sky-blue eyes. His features were soft; he had a heart-shaped face and thin lips, his small nose a rounded one and his cheeks full.

He shut his eyes and tugged at strands of his hair as discretely as he could; the voices had been getting louder. It was getting difficult to concentrate.

The teacher noticed, working her way through the tables and seated students, she reached his and Jared's desk and knelt beside him, "Edward, are you okay?" she spoke quickly, only to receive a blank stare from the boy.

She watched his eyes as the gears worked in the adolescent's mind, trying to decipher the meaning behind the few words she had spoken. He was a bright one, so she was positive he had a fair idea of what she had said.

"Ja." He replied shortly, not looking her in the eye.

She nodded and stood back up and proceeded to checking up on the other students' progress.

He shakily took his pencil back in his hand and attempted to finish the problem he was working on, but the voices refused to let him go.

_Du bist dumm. Sie wissen nicht wie Sie. Niemand wird jemals wie Sie. Go Sprung vor ein Auto._

"Lass mich in Ruhe." His voice was barely audible, but shaky, he looked around at the people surrounding him, they were all focused on the work they were doing. Couldn't they hear the voices too? "Lass mich in Ruhe…" he whispered again as the voices continued talking.

At that, Jared lifted his arm and slammed his pen onto the desk, turning to face the smaller boy beside him, an annoyed look on his face "Would you shut the fuck up already, you stupid kraut!" his loudness attracting the attention of everyone in the room.

Of course he wasn't going to let this go off without a consequence. How dare the stupid American brat treat _him_ of all people like that. No no no, he would not allow it. The voices bringing a wonderful idea to his attention, he reached his arm out and took Jared's writing instrument.

"Now now, Jared, please calm down," she stumbled through the students' belongings as she attempted to reach their desk rapidly, "I'm sure he was just- "

The teacher shrieked, as he pierced Jared's hand with the very same pen the boy had slammed down. The American boy screamed in agony and clutched his wrist, staring down at the writing utensil now speared through his hand.

He was a foreigner, yes, but the last thing he was, was stupid. The very few English words he had managed to pick up would always be of use to him, "Fuck you." He said promptly before standing and walking towards the class door, all eyes on his back as he opened the door and shut it behind him.

He worked his way out of the school building, not bothering to notice the ruckus behind him. People were yelling his name, and a few adults tried stopping him in his tracks. His small physique made it easier to get around any hands that were trying to grab at him.

He didn't need the input of the stupid Americans, the voices were enough.

It wasn't that big of a deal to him anyway, he understood more of the English language than he led on, and that stupid boy wasn't going to insult him without getting hurt. He got what he deserved and nothing more. Nobody inferior to him was to mess with him, ever.

The voices were pleased at the moment. For some reason the pain he inflicted on the other boy gratified them. It brought him a feeling of peace. Unfortunately it didn't last very long, upon reaching his home he was confronted by his mother.

She screamed at him in a language she knew he would understand. It hadn't been very long that he had been acting up, and when he did, he always blamed it on the voices. He wasn't insane, he couldn't be insane. He was just acting up and refusing to take the blame, kids did that. At fourteen years old, it was just him refusing to take responsibility for his misbehaviors.

She sent him up to his dormitory, threatening to kick him out of the house if his attitude didn't change. Despite his mental state, he was still an adolescent. He had discovered that retorting and insulting his mother only awoke the rage of his father, who made things no easier. He would remain quiet, and save himself the physical and emotional beating. They would get what was coming to them soon enough. The voices had already assured him of that.

He went to sit at his desk, picking up the small device that lay upon it. It was a flashlight.

Sure, the item had been invented long before his current time, but he had created the flashlight. The small cylindrical device he held in his hands was his own creation. It worked just like a factory-made flashlight would, complete with its own on-and-off switch.

It was something he wanted to do one day. He didn't want to create flashlights, but he wanted to invent things.

He had a collection of toy soldiers, they all wielded small guns. He wanted to one day create new weapons that newer toy soldiers would be wielding. He wanted to create weapons of mass destruction that would one day be of use.

The voices approved of this dream, and that was the only permission he needed.

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><p><strong>Voices; (in order of appearance)<br>**

_They do not like you. You're a freak to them, just ask that Jared boy._

_You're stupid. They don't like you. No one will ever like you. Go jump in front of a car._

__**Young Richtofen; (in order of appearance)**

_Shut up, I know_

_Leave me alone_


	2. 16

**Alright kiddies. **Here's the much awaited update. You do all know where it gets interesting, right? Believe me; I have an NZ theory that has nothing to do with what we all know as the 'general' storyline. Trust me it gets good. ;)

A spoiler would be one of the Elena Seigman songs. Though I won't tell which one. ;)

I'm also going to try something new with the translations.

Anyways, on with the tale of my lovely Nazi. ^-^

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><p>"Edward!" the older woman yelled from behind the kitchen sink, a wet sponge released droplets of water onto her pink shirt as she yelled to the boy that sat at the kitchen table behind her "If you continue your stupid experiments, you're going to get us all killed!"<p>

"Nein, Ma. Ich-"

"Ah, ah!"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. A sudden American pride had rushed through his mother in the last few weeks. She insisted that only English was to be spoken in her home. He, however, sided with the Nazi party that was currently helping his country's economy. He closely followed all the events happening in Europe, specifically the happenings that occurred between the German borders. His father had said that if things got better over there, they would move back. It was what he wanted.

"No, mother. I'm just vorking on zhis to make it better. It vorks already." he twisted the final screw on the device he held in his hands and smiled at the finished product.

"You know zhat your father und I do not approve of zhis, yet you vill not stop," she carried a tray of food in her hands, heading into their living-room she stopped in the doorway, "vhy can't you be like your sister."

"Vhy can't you be like your sister..." he mimicked his mother's voice, only adding a disgusted tone. He observed the item that sat upon the table in front of him. It proved he was a thousand times better than his sister.

"Amelia zhis, Amelia zhat. Oh Amelia, your accent ish gone. Oh Amelia!" he spat, his eyebrows narrowing slightly. Amelia was just lucky.

She wasn't smart. She wasn't good at anything. Amelia was just lucky. She was on the team of girls that danced for American football teams. All she really had was flexibility. He on the other hand, was a complete genius. The small device he held in his hands assured him of it. The voices approved of its intensions.

A small smile crept onto his facial features as he pointed the faux-rifle at his mother and father who sat by the radio, listening and conversing about the events currently happening in the neighborhood.

A small red dot appeared on the back of his mother's head and he giggled at the thought of a bullet rushing through it.

_It is just a matter of time..._

Two years before, he built flashlights. He was sixteen now, and he had finally gotten enough material to create replica weapons; although they only emitted a small red light instead of bullets when the trigger was pulled. His steps were small, but sure. It was only a matter of time before he created something that would shoot things.

"I'm home!" a light, cheery voice called out.

"Ich hasse dich." he let his head fall onto the table and pressed the tip of the weapon to his temple, promptly pulling on the trigger. (I hate you)

"Amelia! How vas it?" his mother yelled happily as she stood to greet her daughter.

"It was great. Daniel was there, he's just the greatest." she said walking into the kitchen.

"Hallo, Kleine." She said playfully ruffling her brother's messy hair. He swatted her hand away and stood up from the chair he was sitting in. Without as much as a 'hello' he left and headed upstairs to his room. (Hello, little one)

Muttering obscenities to himself in German, he locked the door to his room and threw himself onto his bed. The mattress sank slightly at the new weight forced upon it.

"Ugh!" he yelled, grabbing at strands of his hair, tugging them down with as much force as he could. Whenever Amelia was near him, the voices screamed for bloody murder. It always gave him a massive headache. He didn't like it, at all. It felt as if his brain was purposely ramming itself into his skull.

Head throbbing, he stood up from his bed, unlocked his door and headed down the small hallway to the door that resided to his left. He entered his sister's bedroom and headed for her dresser.

He stared at all the American products that his sister insisted on buying. All of the small figurines surrounded a large matryoshka doll. It had been a leaving gift given to her by their grandmother.

Without a second thought, he swatted at the doll. It fell and the largest one cracked, colourful clay pieces lay everywhere while the second largest doll rolled aside. The voices quieted, and he sighed in relief.

He left his sister's room and returned to his own. An orange beam of light gave his pale skin a golden glow as he lay in his bed. The sun was just beginning to set.

"Edward!" his mother yelled from downstairs.

"Vat?" he yelled back, not bothering to sit up.

"Dinner is ready!"

"I don't vant your food!" he yelled.

"Fine! Starve!" his mother yelled back, not bothering to argue.

He rolled his eyes once more. If he could make money out of his skill, he wouldn't be in that house. He'd be back in Germany, his real home.

He stared out of his window at the American children that were outside playing. They smiled and giggled as they played with water-guns, squirting one-another with the clear fluid.

His mind was already set on figuring out how the water was pushed through the gun. It gave him an idea.

He headed downstairs to find that his light gun had been taken from its place on the table. His thoughts immediately going to his mother, he walked outside through the backdoor and to the set of garbage bins that were on the side of the house.

They were empty.

He stared into the bin he had opened for a few moments trying to figure out where his faux weapon may be. His adolescent mind settled for the only thing that was left to do.

He promptly returned to the inside of the house and walked into the living room. He expected to find his mother in there with his father. Upon finding the man alone, he had to wonder where she had gone to.

"Wo ist mama?" he asked as he stood by the radio. His father turned to face him. (Where's mom?)

"Sie ist mit deiner Schwester. Wussten Sie brechen ihre Puppe?" (She is with your sister. Did yo break her doll?)

"Nein."

"Edward."

"Ich sagte nein! Warum sollte ich brechen ihnen dummen Puppen?" (I said no! Why would I break her stupid dolls?)

His father shook his head and Edward shrugged. His father didn't care what language he spoke in. It gave the boy a chance to speak to someone in his native tongue. Amelia was always willing, but he couldn't stand being near her.

"Was ist das?" his father asked, pulling his son's faux weapon from his side. (What is this?)

"Ah! Es ist ein-" (Oh, it's a-)

"Warum machen sie Waffen?" (Why do you make weapons?)

"Ich-" (I-)

The elder man stood from his spot on the sofa as his wife came through the doorway.

"Ve are asking nicely, please stop vith all of zhis. You are only going to harm yourself in zhe end." she spoke softly,

"Ich-"

"Ah-ah!"

The boy rolled his eyes and turned to his father in hopes of support. The man shrugged and gestured to the woman.

"Your mother is right, you vill only end up vith loss. It takes a lot of shkill to-"

"Are you calling me shtupid?" the boy stared at his parents in disbelief.

His father struck him across the face, "You vill not use zhat attitude vith us ever again!" he threatened, his green eyes meeting those of his son.

The voices were screaming for him to remove the pair from their presence. With one hand he cupped his left cheek and with the other he tugged at strands of his hair once more and shut his eyes.

_Verlassen _(Leave)

Still tugging at his hair with one hand he took his weapon from his father's hands and ran out the door.

His parents were screaming his name, but he didn't care. He was going to prove them wrong. He was going to create something extraordinary.

It was just a matter of time.

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><p>Everyone got it, right? If there was any German spoken the translation was in parenthesis at the end of the line. Okay so yeah.<p>

I won't lie, guys. I'm losing inspiration to keep writing all these NZ fics. Mainly because I'm getting into Hetalia. And their slash. ;-;

Anyway, I'll try with this. Reviews would be nice, bitte und danke!


	3. 17

**Hallo my pretty vons. **My NZ drive is dangerously low, and I need to play, badly. WHO OWNS AN XBOX AND WaW (Or all the BO map packs, that works too) THAT WANTS TO LET ME COME OVER AND PLAY.

Deep sigh. Anyway, continuing with the very little drive I have left. Also, please do forgive my little detail on the actual scenery. I've never been to NY. I live on the other side of the country, you see. ;-;

Must. Update.

You all know what I do and don't own.

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><p>The voices were screaming at him, they demanded that he be a man and not allow his parents to treat him that way. They insulted him, they called him weak.<p>

His emerald eyes stung, tears threatened to begin streaming down his face. Rubbing his eyes furiously, he tried to think of anything else. The voices were getting on his nerves. Waves of anger, frustration, and fear ran through his small frame causing him to shake violently.

He had stopped running when he hit an empty street. He dove into the nearest alleyway and sat down against the brick wall that belonged to an old apartment building.

He rubbed his temples furiously. The thoughts that ran through his head weren't always his. It seemed like they were, but he knew they weren't. At nights he would awake from gruesome nightmares involving lies, deceit, murder and despair. Thoughts of his nightmares began flowing through his mind as if he were experiencing them then and there. His mind jumped from dream to dream, ending with last night's nightmare, the one that involved a weapon.

It always appeared in his arms, or anywhere near him. If he were to be standing near an object with a flat surface, then the weapon would appear there. It was a nice looking weapon, it appeared to have a hook type tip, that appeared to lead into what looked like a battery cell and a tube that held some odd looking liquid which finally turned into a regular rifle end.

_Monsters chased him. They were just silhouettes of what he could only tag as ghosts. They followed him and he attempted to shoot them with his weapon, however when he tried, he would feel a burst of energy and soon enough, the bursts became too strong and he woke up. Sweat had made his hair stick to his forehead and he was sitting upright in his bed. He gasped for breath as he looked around his room, the monsters disappearing for the moment._

His head pounded and he was just about ready to run in front of an oncoming car just to make the feeling go away. The voices disliked it when he disobeyed them. His actions would not go unpunished.

He wondered if anyone else heard them. If they did, then he wished death upon every single human being that inhabited the earth. They were letting him die alone.

He sat there, curled up with his knees pressed against his chest clutching onto his own legs for dear life as the pain slowly began to subside. The pounding slowly decreased and if felt as if his brain was deflating.

The sun had practically set and an eerie orange glow highlighted the run-down area he now inhabited. His parents would probably be worried, but it's not like he cared.

The pain slowly deteriorating, he stood and walked out of the alleyway only to turn right and head back home.

A light breeze had picked up as he walked back the same way he had run earlier. It caused his hair, which had never changed style, to sway back and forth in front of his bright green eyes. He didn't mind it; he was staring at the floor anyway.

He continued walking, the thoughts in his head becoming more and more innocent, and the voices quieter. He was given another chance to breathe.

Soon enough the house that most resembled his own came into his eyesight and he made his way towards it. At night nothing looked the same to him. Corners became housing for shadows and demons alike all while what were once brightly lit areas became the darker parts of the residence. The door creaked as he turned the doorknob and slipped his small frame through the tiny opening he created between the door and the frame.

What happened next, he fully expected.

Through the darkness he could barely make out the taller figure. He knew exactly who it was, and unfortunately for him the voices had quieted and were nowhere to be heard. He had nothing to say, nor did they instruct him on what to do.

"Wo warst du?" (Where were you?)

"Ich-" (I-)

He was unable to finish his sentence, a hand collided with the left side of his face and he was knocked onto the floor. Large hands grabbed at his sides and harshly lifted him off of his feet and slammed him into the wall.

"Wenn Sie dies tun, dass ein weiteres Mal werde ich nicht zögern, Sie vor Ihrer Mutter zu bestrafen" his father spoke in a hoarse whisper. As he let the boy go, his small composure falling to the ground in a dark sobbing heap. (If you do this one more time I will not hesitate to punish you in front of your mother)

The heap jumped at the feeling of a booted foot connecting with his side repeatedly. Each time collided with the same area and he wanted to cry out. However this wasn't the first time he was put into that situation. If he cried out from the agony he was feeling and somehow alerted his mother, his father made sure that he would receive twice the beating the following night.

The bit his bottom lip with all his might to keep from crying out. A slight taste of copper alerted him that he had pierced skin.

The beating soon ceased and the boy was lifted and thrust towards the staircase. Whimpering at every step as the bruised muscles near his lower stomach ached; he somehow managed to trudge upstairs and into his room.

He carefully slid onto his bed; the tears that had been welling up in his eyes were now flowing freely. He remained in a fetal position until his eyes grew tired and he drifted to sleep.

_He was in that place again. He could never place a name on it, but it was an old building. The building appeared to be falling apart; the walls that must have once been light beige were an ugly brown seeping through tattered floral wallpaper. Pieces of the scarlet tile that made up the floor were chipped off, revealing various insect nests._

He once again carried that weapon in his hands. It was light, and the trio of light bulbs that lined the rifle was brightly lit up.

And the monsters appeared again. The silhouettes charging towards him once more. He aimed his weapon and fired, a small shock being sent through him as he did so.

A set of silhouettes disappeared and he began running. He ran through old rooms, some held empty rusty chairs that were scooted under an equally rusty table. Dust lingered everywhere, along with the bugs.

_He ran and it appeared the silhouettes just got faster and faster with every step he took. He wasn't able to run for very long, the figures soon caught up to him and he felt a slight pressure on his shoulders._

_He turned back and screamed._

Sweat glistened upon his pale skin in the moonlight; his breathing was hitched and heavy. His eyes had burst open and he sat up straight in an instant. The dream was just like the one from the previous night.

He gripped the sheets of his bed and lowered his head as his now bruised muscles ached. Muttering to himself in his native language, he scolded himself. He was practically the legal age in both his country and America, a year away from being able to participate in adult things.

He shouldn't be having the nightmares of an incompetent child.

Despite the pain in his torso, he managed to stand up to change into the set of thin trousers he slept in. He carefully removed his shirt, still causing strain on his bruises despite his attempts not to. With the same caution, he slipped into bed and closed his eyes, begging for a good night's sleep.

If only for a few hours.

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><p>Alright guys so. Yeah. Despite the fact that Hetalia is slowly taking over my life, I'll hear the character that's Germany talk and I'll remember my nazi3<br>I'm trying my hardest to update all of this. And the translations seem a bit awkward, but they work, y'know?

Reviews would be lovely, bitte und danke3


	4. 18

Well then. Before anything gets done, Sup, homiez? How y'all doin?

A couple things to do today before this update gets going.

One, IT'S BEEN FIVER-EVER. I know, I know, but first my ipod gets stolen, and then I got a new laptop and it decided to be a douchenozzle and not have Microsoft Office installed, so I had to get it. So, here I am now.

And two.

_**P3 LadyChaos**_; When most of my reviews say anything along the lines of, "This is good, I like such and such, keep going". What else can I say besides thank you? And I'm terrible at conversation, so I never really find anything to add to whatever's been said. Y'know? But thanks for your words, nonetheless~

Granted I have forgotten to thank all you lovely readers, (Even you, yes, you. You reading this author's note who doesn't review) in the last couple chapters, so my bad. Frankly, as a writer, it's known that every piece of feedback matters. You guys know that. I know that, and I appreciate it so much, okay?

And lastly, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to MidnightWolf0. Cause dude it's like you predicted this chapter.

Treyarch owns him and I don't think I own his sister either, but I own everyone else.

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><p>Their parents had gone out, and the two were left to fend for themselves the rest of the day. Amelia had gone out not too long after them and returned with two friends and her boyfriend. The younger boy stared at his sister, daggers shooting from his eyes as she walked in followed by three other people.<p>

"Ich erzähle Ma," he spoke sternly, attempting to block the oncoming headache. (I'm telling mom)

She glared at him, "Nein, du bist nicht," she took her boyfriend's hand and led him towards the next room. (No, you're not)

"Ja, ich will." (Yes, I am.)

"Wenn Sie Mama nichts sagen, ich will, dass Sie weggeschickt." she leaned towards her boyfriend and whispered something in English. (Tell mom anything and I'll make sure you get sent away)

"Überall ist besser als hier, " her brother spoke softly as he grazed a few fingertips over his clothed rib cage, small waves of pain flowing through him from the contact. The voices were demanding he attack her, but under the current circumstances that would have resulted in a horrible punishment. (Anywhere's better than here)

She was about to open her mouth to speak again, but was cut off by an American accent, "Don't worry, babe. Your brother's not gonna tell anyone."

"And why shouldn't I?"

"Oh shit it speaks English."

"Danny, stop it." She swatted at the American boy's shoulder, "Be nice."

The boy shrugged and continued into the kitchen with the two girls, leaving the siblings alone in the den. Amelia walked over and sat beside her brother, taking his right hand away from the piece of metal he was observing and placing it between both her palms.

He glared at her, both his own thoughts and the voices demanding an explanation, "Was?" (What?)

"Bitte nicht sagen, Mama darüber," she stared into the eyes that matched hers, pleading. (Please don't tell mom anything.)

The voices had various possible outcomes for the situation. All ended in her and her friends hanging by their necks from the wooden panels that lined the basement ceiling. He shook his head in attempts to make the thoughts go away, and it only resulted in a massive headache. He turned back to his sister, a sudden wave of pity came over him upon looking into the set of eyes they shared, and semi-nodded. He would get back at her later. She was two years older than he was, and she had access to things he didn't, or at least her boyfriend did. He could use that to his advantage.

She smiled and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Though her intentions were good, they weren't approved by the voices. Her lips made his skin burn. He pushed her aside, taking his object in his left hand and headed upstairs towards his room.

Slamming the door as hard as he could he leaped into his bed and tried getting the voices to calm down, "Ist verdammt ekelhaft!" (That's fucking disgusting!")

The headache had not ceased, and if anything, only grew worse by the second. He pulled at his hair with one hand and slammed his palm into his forehead with the other. Anything to get the pain to go away. As his head continued to throb, he began feeling numb. A few moments passed a he registered that he couldn't feel neither his legs nor his arms. The feeing quickly rushed to the rest of his body, and his mind went blank.

_The figures continued to follow him as he ran through the swamp. They emerged from everywhere and in large numbers. He entered what appeared to be a small house. It had en exit but it was blocked of by debris, he frantically looked around and ran towards a window, hoping there would be something to help him break it. There was nothing near the door, so he ran towards the debris and picked up a large bit of decaying wood. _

_He hadn't even noticed that the dark figures had entered the small house. He turned from the pile and jumped backwards at the sight of what was probably twenty figures approaching him. He screamed and turned back towards the pile and attempted to get through it somehow. However there was a large desk that refused to move no matter how he tried to get around it. _

_His screams became muffled as he was consumed by the darkness that the figures brought along with them._

His eyes shot open and he stared up at what he quickly recognized as the ceiling of his room. Rubbing his eyes, he began recalling everything in the dream. Who were the figures? Why did they chase him? What did they want- well, it was obvious that they wanted his demise. But why.

His train of thought was interrupted by a growling. A slight groan escaped his mouth as he swung his legs from his bed to the floor. Hopefully Amelia's friends had left already. He stepped out of his room and carefully walked down the stairs, avoiding making any noise.

When he peeked through the doorway that led from the den to the kitchen, he was surprised to only find one of Amelia's friends inside. She came over often, so he recognized the face at least.

She had an oval face that was adorned with big brown eyes, a pointed nose and both thin lips and eyebrows complemented by reddish-brownish hair. She wore a set of round born-rimmed glasses that made her face seem smaller, and a light green blouse that was accompanied by a white skirt that ran down to her ankles.

There was something about her that called out to him, yet he couldn't put a name on it. He'd seen, and had been forced to meet some of Amelia's other friends, and he'd never experienced anything like it with anyone else. Something about this girl was just, different. She looked up from the book she was reading and noticed a head of blond hair quickly hide itself from the doorway.

"I know you're there." She spoke softly, a hint of laughter lacing itself along.

Having been discovered, he merged completely into the doorway and stepped into the kitchen. She smiled in his direction as he headed towards the pantry in search of something to eat.

"You looking for something? Are you hungry?" she spoke softly as she appeared behind him, also looking into the pantry.

"No." he muttered as he turned swiftly and stepped out of the kitchen. He headed back up to his room and sat at his desk. His stomach continued to growl and he placed a hand over it, in attempt to quiet it.

He had two choices, he could wait it out or he could go down there and find something to eat.

He was contemplating waiting it out until the voices began demanding he go downstairs and get food. They spoke loudly, calling him horrid names. He held his head in his hands and attempted to quiet them, however he quickly accepted defeat and was soon downstairs again.

He peered once more through the doorway and stepped in, not caring that the girl's attention was now on him once more.

"Are you okay?" she asked, looking up from the book she was reading.

"Ja." He replied coolly, moving to the pantry once more.

"Are you sure you're not hungry?"

He took a deep breath before speaking, "Ja. A little."

She nodded "Amelia said we were going out to eat and I've been waiting here for a while. Do you know where she is?"

"No."

"Hm." She sighed, shutting the book, "I have the money, anyway. Do you want to go get something to eat for everyone?"

He raised an eyebrow at the girl. Her intentions seemed innocent, but he had to be sure it wasn't a plot to publicly humiliate him like most others had ended up doing when they spoke to him.

"No." he replied, deciding he'd rather starve than leave the house.

"Oh." The two looked in different directions, an awkward silence quickly falling over the kitchen.

"Um, well. I should- I should go find your sister. We'll let you know what we're gonna buy, okay? She's probably with Danny in her room…"

"Okay."

She smiled at him and rushed through the doorway and up the stairs, knowing well where Amelia's bedroom was. He remained in the kitchen, staring awkwardly at the counter the girl was leaning on before he walked inside. His mind felt scrambled, and he couldn't figure out why. A shrill scream brought him out of his trance-like state.

"What's going on?"

He turned and rushed upstairs, to find the girl in the doorway, staring into the bedroom with a look of confusion and shock on her face. He soon stood by her side, the same expression manifesting itself on his face.

They spoke in unison, "Where are they?"

* * *

><p>SO THERE IT IS. C:<p>

He is my favourite for so many reasons, and this is the only way I can ever see him sort of "interested" in anyone. However we must remember that he's a sociopath. They don't "feel" anything, but they can make it seem like they do, but he's still a kid, technically. So I sorta mixed the two things….. sociopathic hormones. ;~;


End file.
